


Echoes of the Dragonborn

by squirrelofthenight



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-09-30 17:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10167791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squirrelofthenight/pseuds/squirrelofthenight
Summary: The Dragonborn, Lilia Katriel, went to Sovngarde and defeated the World-Eater Alduin - but she didn't come back.In her wake, her wife Lydia is left to look after their sons Alesan and Blaise, and conclude the business that Kat had begun, from helping the Companions to find a new Harbinger to discovering the Night Mother's next Listener. Plunged into new worlds and uncovering secrets that her wife had never told her, Lydia gathers friends to accompany her; Skyrim still needs heroes, even if the Dovahkiin can no longer protect them.





	1. Dragonslayer

“Lydia!”  
Lydia started alert and rose from her seat at one of the long tables in Dragonsreach; she raced towards Irileth, who was standing with eyes afire at the bottom of the stairs up to the back rooms, fingering her blade agitatedly. “What is it?” she asked.  
Irileth blinked at her. “What? Oh. I said Lilia.”  
Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Lilia?”  
A smiling Imperial ran up behind her, dressed in hide armour, an Imperial bow slung over her back and arrows thumping heavily against her spine. “Can I help?” she greeted brightly.  
Irileth’s expression might have been carved from stone. “A dragon’s been sighted outside of Whiterun.”  
Lydia’s lips parted in surprise; when she looked to her left, Lilia’s brow had furrowed and a little colour had drained from her cheeks. “A dragon,” she muttered.  
“The Jarl wants to see you,” Irileth added, and Lilia nodded, following Irileth as she turned and hurried up the stairs, leaving Lydia nervously adjusting her shield on her arm. She debated following as well, but decided against it, and instead stood and paced a little, too on edge to sit down.  
“Lilia,” she said to herself, and then scrunched up her nose.  
Irileth ran back down the stairs, pursued closely by Lilia, whose expression had only become more grave. “Any ideas on how we manage this beast?” Irileth called back to her.  
“I don’t know,” Lilia chuckled dryly. “Last time I saw one I was mostly running away, and I had my hands bound anyway.”  
“How did you get out of there?”  
“Might as well have been a miracle,” Lilia replied, vague, as they reached the door to the keep and pushed through it, sunlight slanting lopsidedly across the throne room towards the fire pit crackling in the floor. Lydia watched the doors as they began to close, slowly thinning the strip of sunlight until it was a hair’s breadth-  
Lydia’s shield jammed in between the doors and she wrenched them open, sprinting down the steps up to Dragonsreach, armour clinking, down through the Wind District, down more stairs, until she spotted Irileth and Lilia near the gates to the city and flew through the Plains District to catch up. Irileth was finishing a speech to a collection of Whiterun guards as Lydia approached. “The glory of killing it is ours! If you’re with me!”  
The guards let out a roar of approval.  
“Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?”  
Another roar.  
Lilia saw Lydia and grinned. “Hello. Are you coming?”  
Lydia blanched. “I guess so.”  
“Great. Come on!”  
“Let’s move out!” Irileth was yelling, already running for the gates, and Lilia and Lydia fell into formation a little way behind her.  
“I’m Lilia, by the way,” Lilia said.  
“I’m Lydia.”  
“Ouch. That’s going to get confusing.” Lilia laughed. “You can call me Kat, if you want.”  
“Kat?”  
“My surname’s Katriel, so...”  
“Okay then, Kat.”  
The stone flagging turned to a rough path, and then to grass, and then to rubble.  
They reached the Western Watchtower without issue, except for the fact that it was on fire, huge chunks of the structure having come crashing down before them, glimmering ghosts of the orange flames on their stone.  
“It’s certainly been here,” Irileth scowled. “Spread out and look for survivors.” She began toeing the rubble and the guards fanned out.  
Lydia began heading towards the watchtower structure, gauging that the doorway looked stable enough to enter, but when she glanced behind her she saw Kat with her bow in her hand, looking at the sky, frowning again. “What is it?” Lydia asked.  
Kat took a breath, then slowly drew an arrow and notched it, weighting the bow, fidgeting. “It’s coming back,” she said.  
Lydia examined the evening sky, clouds chasing each other across it. “I can’t see anything.”  
Kat hesitated before spinning abruptly and aiming her arrow, one eye squeezing shut. “There.”  
Lydia looked where she was aiming. For a second, there was nothing. And then there was.  
“DRAGON!” Irileth bellowed, as the huge scaled monstrosity leapt into sight from the mountains, screeching terror at the men gathered below. Lydia had barely even reacted to its appearance when it swooped, belching flames in a deadly arc. She threw herself out of the way, hearing the dragon let out a cry of rage, and turned blearily to see a pincushion of arrows already protruding from its underbelly. It brushed them away, growling, sending broken shafts clattering to the ground.  
Kat looked satisfied as she notched another arrow and the other guards also began shooting, diving out of the way of the dragon fire, most of them making it in time. One man was screaming, frantically batting against his armour as it burned, trying to wrench it off and put out the fire at the same time. “HELP!” he yelled, and another guard ran to help him as the dragon swooped again. Lydia equipped her own bow and shot arrow after arrow, most of them falling uselessly to the ground, but a few burying themselves in its body, each giving Lydia a rush of morbid euphoria that she had struck this horror.  
After an age, it seemed, the dragon came crashing to the ground, snarling, claws raking gorges into the earth, teeth as long as Lydia’s arm. The dragon reached out and clamped a man in its jaws. He wasn’t screaming for long before the dragon shook its head, the man’s body cracking and tearing before being thrown out like a broken toy and strewn across the rubble, blood pooling beneath him. Lydia’s stomach turned but she charged anyway, slashing at the dragon’s wing, tearing the thin membrane like so much paper to the dragon’s fury, but another guard was dancing before its eyes, drawing its attention, and it snapped at him before growing frustrated, opening its mouth wide and burning the man black with a furious burst of fire. He flopped to the ground, unrecognisable.  
Then the dragon turned its attention on Lydia, going to grasp her within its jaws – she rolled backwards just in time, every hair standing to attention on her head. It snapped at her again; she dodged and slashed at its nose but her sword practically bounced off its scales, useless, useless.  
She dodged again and again, panting, desperate for reprieve but none forthcoming, other guards hacking at its sides but for some reason it had eyes only for her, like in the stories, when the great hero slaughtered the dragon as it snapped and breathed fire at them. This was not a story.  
She was sweating in her armour, the steel cold and slippery against her skin, the fur and tunic beneath having worn through and come out of position. She was having to move so much; it was a miracle she was still even standing.  
And then the dragon swung its head and she wasn’t standing any more, thrown off her feet and sprawling on the grass with a pained grunt. The dragon approached, each footstep an echoing countdown as it got closer and closer.  
Lydia rolled over, facing up, to see its mouth open wide and flames flicker at the back of its throat. She said a quick last prayer to Talos as she stared death in the eyes.  
Suddenly, somehow, Kat was there, straddling its neck, a blade grasped in each hand, her bow lost, forgotten, and she drove one into its eye with a roar. It screeched and reared, threatening to send Kat flying but she held on somehow, hands slipping over its scales but finding grips as the ridges tore into her skin. The dragon shook its head frantically, trying to toss her off, but she still held one sword, legs locked tightly around its neck, and buried the blade into its head.  
It let out one weak grumble and shuddered before it collapsed. Kat went tumbling inelegantly off, flopping into the mud. The sky was almost dark by then. The evening had waned and a moon was peering weakly down at them.  
Lydia beheld the dead dragon with so many emotions roiling in her mind that she couldn’t pinpoint which one she should focus on first. “It’s dead,” she said.  
“Seems that way,” Kat agreed, trying to stand but grunting and falling again. Lydia raced over.  
“What’s wrong?” she asked.  
“Just… all of me.” Kat laughed. “Just my limbs, and my bones, and my organs.” She breathed deeply a few times before she staggered upright, clutching her right knee. “There we go.”  
Irileth jogged over, looking flushed, about to celebrate, perhaps, but then her eyes widened, and Lydia backed away when she saw it too. The dragon corpse was setting on fire.  
“Everyone get back!” Irileth bellowed. Kat struggled to oblige, limping.  
The dragon burned completely down to the bone, its scales and flesh setting alight… and then turning purple and pink and gold and blue and a thousand colours and moving, rushing, towards Kat, who stood and absorbed the ethereal wonder with surprise clearly written across her features.  
“What is that?” one of the guards exclaimed.  
“Dragonborn!” another yelled.  
“It’s not possible!” another shouted.  
The one who had yelled ‘Dragonborn’ approached Kat with wonder in his eyes. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’re Dragonborn?”  
Kat shook her head, bemused. “I… I don’t know, I...”  
“It doesn’t matter. Someone who can kill a dragon is more than good enough for me,” Irileth exclaimed. “We don’t need this superstitious nonsense.”  
“You don’t understand, housecarl. You’re not a Nord,” the guard answered.  
“Neither is she,” Irileth shot back, eyebrows arching.  
Kat was standing with wide eyes, clearly not sure what to do now.  
“There’s one way to find out,” the guard urged. “Try to Shout. Only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do.”  
Kat blinked. “What do I say?”  
“I don’t know. You’re the Dragonborn.”  
Kat stood a little straighter and licked her lips. “Shout,” she muttered, and then took a breath before Shouting “FUS!”  
The shock wave rippled through the air, sending rubble rolling and fire fluttering and one unfortunate guard was driven stumbling backwards.  
Kat stared and stared and stared.  
Lydia looked at her, not sure what to say, how to react.  
“By the Eight,” Kat whispered, and looked at the guard who was standing before her, cheeks red as apples and a childish grin plastered on his face.  
“The Last Dragonborn,” he said, clapping Kat on the shoulder and walking away, leaving her standing, shaking a little, amidst the ruin of the Western Watchtower, an empty quiver on her back and her bow long gone, her armour muddy and scorched, patches of blood running down her skin, her hair a mess.  
Lydia walked over and offered her her shoulder. “Come on, I’ll help you back to Dragonsreach.”  
Kat gratefully leant against her as the Greybeards’ voices echoed “DOVAHKIIN!” across the sky.

-

Kat walked up to Odahving where he was waiting on the edge of the Dragonsreach Perch. Her stride had changed a lot. Where once she had stepped hesitantly and avoided the centre of rooms, she now took each step with confidence and self-righteousness clear in her demeanour, back straight, dark hair flying out behind her.  
Odahving’s head turned to behold her, dipping approvingly. “Dovahkiin.”  
“Odahving.” Kat nodded. “I’m ready.”  
Odahving’s wings stretched expectantly, but then fell limp again as Odahving hesitated. “You are sure?”  
Kat smiled. “I am sure.”  
Lydia had already checked her supplies a thousand times, checked her weapons and armour, told her that she should wait if she wasn’t completely sure.  
She stepped forwards, breath catching in her throat. “Kat,” she called.  
Kat turned to her wife, her eyes softening. “Lydia.”  
“You don’t have to do this,” Lydia pleaded.  
Kat reached for her, and cupped her face with her hand, tilting her chin up. “I know. But I want to. This way I can save you.”  
“I don’t need you to save me. I just need you.”  
Kat laughed and pulled Lydia into a tight embrace, resting her chin on Lydia’s shoulder, her breath tickling her ear. “I love you.”  
“I love you too.” Lydia’s voice broke.  
Kat pulled back and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. “Say goodbye to Alesan and Blaise for me. I love you, I love you, I love you.”  
Tears ran salty sweet into Lydia’s mouth as Kat nodded and leapt onto Odahving, checking that all her equipment was still in place, and then giving Lydia one last loving look before Odahving approached the very edge of the balcony and leapt into empty space.  
“She’s a marvel,” Jarl Balgruuf said behind where Lydia was weeping silent tears.  
“I know,” Lydia sobbed.  
To her surprise, Balgruuf pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back as she wept, probably smearing tears all over his fine clothes. “She’ll save the world,” Balgruuf told her.  
“You’re not going to tell me that she’ll come back?” Lydia sniffed. “That’s what everyone else is telling me right now.”  
“I don’t know whether or not she’ll come back. But I know she’ll save the world. You married the most important woman in Tamriel, housecarl.”  
Lydia smiled, and he nodded at her and retreated into the castle. Lydia gazed at the sky as Odahving became nothing but a speck, Kat lost in the clouds and the distance. “Goodbye,” she whispered.

-

The sheets smelled of Kat.  
Lydia couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t slept since Kat had gone. Alesan and Blaise were worried as well, and dozed fitfully, often coming and climbing into Lydia and Kat’s shared bed, whispering of their nightmares in which they worried about their mother. Lydia didn’t know what to tell them. She was having nightmares too, but instead of haunting her sleep they shivered behind her eyelids, lurked in corners, chased her around and around her own mind. It hadn’t even been that long, but it felt like an eternity.  
Lydia’s eyes were hollowed and dark and she felt limp with worry and fatigue when the whole of Whiterun shuddered. Lydia stumbled out of Breezehome – the house that she and Kat had bought together – and saw the dragon circling the city. It didn’t seem to be attacking, however, and just looked down at the city, then zeroed in on Breezehome and spread its wings, beginning a slow descent. Lydia awaited it, shivering in the doorway, glancing behind her to see Alesan staring at her with wide eyes, cowering in the door to the children’s bedroom. Blaise’s head soon poked out behind his brother’s.  
“Mama, what’s happening?” Alesan asked.  
“A dragon,” Lydia answered. “Stay inside, you two.”  
Blaise nodded dutifully and they both shuffled back into their room, shutting the door behind them. Lydia closed the front door behind her as the dragon managed to squeeze itself into the street, guards and people fleeing before it as it hit the ground, shaking it such that Lydia had to grab the doorframe to stop herself from falling over.  
Now that the dragon was before her, she recognised it as Paarthunax, the master of the Thu’um that she and Kat had found together at the Throat of the World, after Kat had Shouted the way open. It held its body low, its head close to the ground, unblinking.  
“Lydia,” Paarthunax rumbled.  
Lydia hadn’t known that the ancient dragon had known her name, but she took it, trying to seem brave. “Paarthunax.”  
“Dovahkiin went to Sovngarde,” Paarthunax said.  
“She did.” Lydia swallowed. “Do you know something? Do you know what happened?” She was babbling; she was desperate.  
Paarthunax grumbled deep in the throat, and then the dragon’s body lifted off the ground, revealing what was clutched in the claws clustered on the paving.  
“Lilia...” Lydia choked on the word, and fell to the floor, her knees buckling beneath her. Paarthunax took a few steps backwards, leaving Kat’s body. It looked so small.  
Lydia crawled towards her wife, eyes startlingly dry, gathering Kat in her lap, resting her limp head in the crook of her elbow. Her eyes were closed, but no one could have believed that she was sleeping; deep claw marks were raked into her chest, and her hair was matted with blood. Her weapons and supplies were missing and her armour was in tatters. It was the Deathbrand armour that they had discovered together, scouring the coasts of Solstheim.  
Lydia was almost just realising how much she needed Kat. That did everything together; Lydia wasn’t sure she could ever function without her.  
And yet, here she was, dead.  
Dead.  
Lydia’s throat was barely functioning. Was she even breathing?  
Lilia Katriel was the Dragonborn. Her destiny had been tied with greater things than Lydia since before she was ever born. Lydia should have known that.  
She should have known that Kat was too good to be hers.  
Lydia didn’t notice that she was crying until a tear hit Kat’s face, ran and tangled into her eyelashes. She was shaking, shaking, shaking.  
“Did she do it?” Lydia asked. “Did she defeat Alduin?”  
“Yes,” Paarthunax replied.  
Lydia pulled Kat closer to her. “She defeated Alduin,” Lydia whispered. Then she looked up at Paarthunax. “The funeral will be magnificent,” she promised.  
And it was.


	2. Once a Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Companions are leaderless and disorganised, but Farkas, Vilkas and Aela hold them together by sheer force of will, rebuffing overeager recruits while trying to reassemble some essence of order. Lydia seeks them out, finding both a babysitter and an offer of help, and remembers all that time ago when Kat was nothing more to the Companions than another excited prospect.

Concluding the ongoing business of Lilia Katriel would be no simple task, Lydia concluded as she began approaching the bottom of the paperwork stashed in the chest beside their bed. Kat kept everything in writing, because, as she had always said, she had a ‘memory worse than Wylandriah’s’. She had managed to enchant her papers, though, such that they were invisible to anyone that she hadn’t approved of. Although, Lydia supposed that now she’d have to dispose of them. She didn’t know if enchantments persisted after…  
It didn’t hurt as much any more. A dull twang of pain that echoed around in her chest and plucked at her voice, and then ebbed away like the tide.  
Still, Lydia sighed and closed the chest again, locking it, wondering what to do first. There was so much left that Kat had meant to do, had begun and never finished, had planned and never realised. Should Lydia finish what her wife had begun? She didn’t know.  
Of course, surely the news that the Dragonborn had died must have spread around, but Lydia didn’t know if Kat even told everyone that she was affiliated with that she was the Dragonborn. Perhaps dozens of people knew her only as Kat, and not the destiny and future that she had always been bound to and had been part of her as much as her dark hair or smiling eyes.  
Where to start? The Companions, perhaps. They were in Whiterun after all, and Lydia would prefer not to have to leave the children alone for too long. Previously, when she and Kat had ventured out together, they had either left Alesan and Blaise in the care of the Jarl or brought her housecarl Rayya from Falkreath to look after them, and they were never away for more than a few days at a time. Lydia didn’t know if Rayya would even listen to her, but the Jarl would surely help her out.  
But this was the short run. What would Lydia do as time kept rolling? She’d have to get a job. She’d dabbled in trading before which tucked away a tidy profit; maybe she could expand that into a full-blown business.  
Hm. Lydia wasn’t much of a businesswoman. She was good at hitting things and looking after Kat. She supposed that she would have to expand her repertoire.  
The Companions, first. She would go over, tell them what had happened, if they didn’t already know. Then she would come back. Hopefully, it would be as simple as that. They would have to elect a new Harbinger. Vilkas, perhaps. Or Aela. Lydia knew them all quite well from all the times that she had visited Jorrvaskr with Kat and ended up chatting with them. Aela was intimidating; Vilkas was easy enough to talk to after getting to know; Farkas was friendly. She had liked Kodlak Whitemane very much… but then of course, he had perished. The Companions didn’t seem to have the best luck choosing Harbingers.  
She stood up, brushing herself down. She wasn’t wearing her armour that day: instead, she was wearing an outfit from Radiant Raiment that Kat had managed to coerce out of Taarie in exchange for wearing it to speak to Jarl Elisif the Fair. It was advantageous that they were the same size.  
When she got downstairs, Alesan was cooking something that was probably supposed to be lunch, randomly tossing ingredients into the cooking pot while Blaise watched him dubiously, legs swinging under the table where he was perched.  
“That’s never going to work,” Blaise scowled.  
“Is too,” Alesan insisted. “I can cook really well. I want to be a chef when I’m older.” His eyes widened. “Like the Gourmet.” Alesan giggled. “Didn’t mum tell us that she once impersonated the Gourmet?”  
“And who exactly told you that you could use the cooking pot?” Lydia teased from the top of the stairs.  
Alesan started and reddened dramatically. “Um...”  
Lydia laughed “That’s okay. I meant to cook something, but I’ve been busy.”  
“You’ve been going through mum’s stuff,” Blaise said.  
Lydia raised an eyebrow. “How did you find that out?”  
“I saw you.”  
“You’re very quiet,” Lydia told him.  
“I want to be an assassin. Like mum.” Blaise’s eyes held a challenge.  
“Maybe think about that a little longer before you make a decision,” Lydia said carefully. She couldn’t exactly condemn the careers that her spouse had done – and done so well – but equally thinking about her Blaise as an assassin wasn’t exactly a comforting notion. “I’m going out,” she continued, “so try not to burn the house down while I’m gone.”  
“Yeah, Alesan,” Blaise sneered.  
Alesan stuck his tongue out. Lydia just shook her head and left, smiling.  
The way up to the Wind District had felt bleak ever since Kat had left for Sovngarde, but as the pain dulled, so did the sharpness of the memories and the insistence of her loneliness.  
Lydia was fine. She would be fine.  
Jorrvaskr mead hall was magnificent in a slightly ramshackle sort of way, silhouetted against the sky. It looked like someone had turned a ship upside down and dumped it on a hill, and someone had been insane enough to try to live in it – and been successful. Lydia ascended the steps up to the doors and pushed one open, the rushing smell of ale and coal engulfing her. She took a breath before she entered.  
They must have heard. The funeral had been in Dragonsreach. She was fairly convinced that several of them had been there. This was a simple courtesy.  
Farkas was loitering near the doors, looking restless. He stopped pacing when he saw Lydia. “Thinking I need to train some more,” he grumbled, before proffering a weak smile. “Haven’t seen you for a while.”  
“I’ve been… busy,” Lydia replied weakly.  
Farkas just nodded, his expression sympathetic.  
“Need something? I’m here to help.”  
“Well, I...” Lydia should have planned what she was going to say. “I wanted to just make sure that all of Kat’s business was done, I suppose. I’m trying to tie up loose ends.”  
“Loose ends?” Farkas considered. Then he shrugged. “My brother Vilkas is a better talker than me. He should be around someplace.”  
Lydia nodded. “I’ll find him. I’m guessing he’s downstairs?”  
Farkas shrugged. “Probably.”  
Lydia passed a few other Companions as she headed into the basement: Ria, with whom she exchanged a smile, and Athis, who spared her no more than a passing glance. She found Vilkas in his room. He didn’t look up at first, and growled, polishing his sword with aggressive, sweeping gestures. “Great, another ambitious visitor. You think you can just wander in here and join us?” He jerked his chin up and then said, “Oh. Sorry, Lydia.” He shook his head. “It’s been a long week.”  
“What’s been happening?” Lydia asked, sitting down in the chair by the door.  
“Everyone knows that we’re missing a Harbinger now,” Vilkas complained, “and so they think we’re disorganised, that they can slip in the door and we won’t notice.” He grunted. “Some have come in here claiming that they should be the next Harbinger, even though they’re not even a Companion. The arrogance.”  
“Have you decided on the next Harbinger yet?” Lydia asked.  
“No,” Vilkas answered clearly angry about it. “It would have been Skjor, but…” He dragged his cloth down his sword viciously. “The Companions will have to get some good new recruits, not these arrogant fools that keep pouring in the door. Don’t suppose you’d be interested?” He was joking, but he wasn’t really.  
Lydia smiled. “I’ve got two sons at home. Time is short for me nowadays.”  
Vilkas frowned. “You’re in here to check up on us.” He sighed. “Lilia did an awful lot, with all sorts of people. We knew that. You’re going to be up and down Skyrim polishing up after her, I’ll bet, if you’re planning on checking up on everyone who she dealt with.”  
“Sounds likely.”  
Vilkas cocked his head. “Will you be wanting a hand?”  
“I thought the Companions needed good men like you on hand at all times, Vilkas. You’ve lost enough already without my troubling you.”  
“Lilia was worth any time. I owe her much. She saved us from ourselves after losing Kodlak nearly destroyed us. She cured him, saved him, sent him to Sovngarde. Then she cured my brother and I.” Vilkas placed his sword to one side and rubbed his hands together. “It has been quite the change, but I owe her my eternity.”  
Lydia recalled the months during which Kat had been a werewolf. The increase in appetite, the disappearances, the inability to sleep well, tossing and turning in the night. Then they had slaughtered the Glenmoril Witches and thrown their heads into the fire, and Kat had slept soundly again.  
Vilkas stood, raising his sword once more and slinging it across his back. “So, would you like my help?”  
“You don’t even know where I’m going to be going,” Lydia replied with a smile.  
“No, I don’t. And I don’t need to. Lilia loved you, housecarl, and I shall protect you. I will be your companion.” He didn't laugh, but he almost did, a quick, amused exhale escaping his lips. "Once a Companion, always a Companion."  
Lydia laughed. “Well, I’m hardly in a position to turn away help when it is offered,” Lydia admitted, standing. “I’ll let you know when I’m headed out of the city.”  
“As you like.” Vilkas hesitated. “About your children...”  
“I usually leave them with the Jarl,” Lydia told him.  
“You could leave them here, if you like.”  
“Here? Jorrvaskr?”  
“Yeah. My brother Farkas has been looking to settle down with someone, get a house, have kids, all that. He could use the practise.”  
“Is… he qualified?”  
“Aela will make sure he looked after them. And it’ll be nice for there to be some new faces around here.” Lydia didn’t look very convinced, so Vilkas added, “Ria used to work in the orphanage at Riften, so she knows her way with kids.”  
Lydia shook her head but laughed. “Fair enough, Vilkas. At least you don’t have a steward who’s been threatening to charge me for the rooms.”  
“That bastard.”  
She smiled at him. “I’ll come and find you soon, Vilkas,” she said.  
“I’ll be here,” Vilkas answered.

-

“The Companions?” Lydia echoed, surprised.  
Kat was standing proud in their shared room at the Bannered Mare, waving a dagger around, pulling faces, making sound effects as she had a pretend battle. “The Companions,” she repeated, grinning, ceasing her false fight with a laugh.  
“You want to join the Companions? Why?”  
“They’re amazing,” Kat answered, sheathing her dagger and clapping her hands together. “Brethren in battle, they fight together for justice and the highest price! Sounds like my kind of crowd.”  
“Don’t you have all sorts of… Dragonborn… stuff… to do?”  
Kat shrugged. “I can multitask. And I intend to do so.”  
“Sounds risky.”  
“So does dragon slaying. But we can do that fine. How many is it now? Four?”  
“Five,” Lydia corrected, feeling a swell of pride in her chest.  
“Five!” Kat laughed in approval. “Five dragons! I think I can handle the Companions.”  
“Will they… even let you in?”  
“I’m the Dragonborn! And I can fight just a little bit, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Kat giggled and threw herself onto the bed next to Lydia, then groaned. “Oh shit. I still haven’t switched us to a room with two separate beds. I’ll try to remember tomorrow.” She sighed. “Sorry that you’re obliged to follow and protect that poorest Thane in the history of Tamriel.”  
“It’s okay.” Lydia shrugged. “I’ve slept in worse places.”  
“Like?”  
“Erm… when I was a kid I used to sleep on a mud floor with five other children, my parents, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles and one very frail great grandmother.”  
“How big was the mud floor?”  
Lydia blew her cheeks out. “About as big as this room.”  
Kat shook her head. “You’re making it up.”  
Lydia chuckled. “Maybe.”  
Curling up into the furs, Kat’s stomach suddenly rumbled; she sat up looking sheepish. “Shall we go and get some dinner, then?”  
“Sounds good.”  
They left the room that Kat had been renting since her arrival in Whiterun a couple of weeks before and headed down the stairs. Hulda was scrubbing the bar. She always seemed to just stand there scrubbing it, an almost absent-minded task. Kat sidled up to the bar and knocked on the wood. “Hulda! What’s on the menu?”  
“The same things that are always on the menu.”  
“Ah. Then, I’ll have the usual.”  
“As always.” Hulda had her I’m-pretending-to-be-irritated-but-I’m-not-actually frown on her face as she put two chicken dumplings on the fire to cook. Kat hopped onto a stool at the bar and Lydia took the one beside her. The bard Mikael started half-heartedly strumming, humming the opening bars to the Age of Aggression. The fire pit crackled an uneven accompaniment.  
“I’m just going to go and use the toilet,” Lydia said as she felt a pressure on her bladder. Kat nodded, tapping in time with Mikael on the bar. Lydia walked towards the back room. A scowling Nord woman brooded over a mug of brandy. When she saw Lydia she snapped, “Keep walkin’, softgut. I’m more woman that you can handle.”  
Lydia’s eyebrows shot up. “I feel like that was uncalled for.”  
The woman just deepened her scowl.  
Lydia rolled her eyes and continued to the toilet. She relieved herself, but got an increasingly bad feeling which was confirmed when she re-entered the main room to find Kat glowering down at the Nord woman who had snapped at her.  
“Think you could go blade to blade with me? You’d be dead in six seconds.”  
Kat smirked. “Think you can take me on?”  
“And why not? I could beat anyone in this city, bare-handed. A hundred gold says I knock your hide to the ground.”  
Lydia cleared her throat. “Kat, do you even have a hundred gold?” she hissed.  
“I’ll work it out,” Kat replied. “But, I’m not planning on losing.”  
“I’m not helping you pay for this,” Lydia said, raising her hands and backing away.  
Kat cracked her knuckles. “I’m game,” she told the woman.  
“Just fists. No weapons, no magic… no crying.” Kat snorted. “Let’s go.”  
The woman swung immediately, gauntleted fist striking out towards Kat’s face. Kat dropped backwards in an inelegant dodge, bending her back down, knees bending. The woman swung again and Kat dived under it in a crouch.  
“Are you just going to dodge?” the woman snarled.  
Kat dodged once more, swinging underneath the woman’s arm nimbly. Then she kicked her in the back of the knee, buckling her leg, and pulled her arm back in a vicious lock. The woman roared and swung her other arm around. Kat only barely moved in time and the gauntlet grazed her cheek, drawing a thin line of blood, a shallow graze. Kat whistled and quite suddenly changed tack, leaping on the woman’s back in a violent tackle, wrapping her legs around the woman’s waist and sending her tumbling forwards, her face cracking against the ground.  
“This is one of the best brawls I’ve ever seen,” Mikael cried excitedly. Lydia watched with wide eyes as they grappled on the floor, a confusing tangle of limbs. Somehow, Kat ended up with the other woman in a choke hold, holding her firmly against the ground.  
“All right, all right,” the woman gasped, hitting a fist against the floor. Kat smiled and sprung off her.  
“A hundred gold, then?” Kat urged.  
The woman shook her head in disbelief. “Now that’s what I call a punch. You got me.” She reached to her purse and counted out the money, handing it over with far less resentment than Lydia had expected. “You’re no liar. Best fight I’ve had in years.”  
Kat raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”  
The woman just shrugged.  
“You should try your luck with the Companions if you’re looking for good fighting,” Kat suggested.  
The woman’s expression turned dark. “I already tried out with them. It didn’t work.”  
Kat frowned. “No?”  
The woman reddened. “It wasn’t my fault! I told them over and over that it was an accident! They wanted me to prove my worth, so they threw me up against a young whelp of a lad, hardly old enough to grow his first chin-hairs. I guess they thought a woman wasn’t strong enough to hurt him.” Kat swallowed. “I didn’t mean for him to die! Why would I want that? I just… lost control.”  
“So they wouldn’t let you in?”  
The woman just stared at her brandy left sitting on the table.  
Kat smiled. “I’m Lilia. Or Kat. Whichever.”  
“Uthgerd,” the woman replied. Then she sniffed. “If you ever need a hand, someone to follow you into battle, just let me know.”  
Kat nodded in appreciation. “Thank you, Uthgerd. I wish you luck with all your endeavours.”  
Uthgerd blinked a couple of times and sat back down. By the time this had unfolded, Kat and Lydia’s chicken dumplings were sitting steaming on the bar. Kat wolfed hers down.  
“You got lucky there,” Lydia told her.  
Kat grinned. “I’m always lucky,” she said around a mouthful of pastry.  
They finished their plates, thanked Hulda, and went back upstairs. Kat immediately began stripping off her armour. Lydia tried not to look. It proved more difficult than she had anticipated.  
Kat glanced up, saw her wandering eyes, laughed. “Sorry. I’m very used to sleeping alone.”  
Lydia blushed. “That’s okay.” She shuffled over to a corner of the room and shed her own steel plate, pulling a clean tunic over her head. Kat was already half tucked into bed by the time Lydia was ready, yawning widely. “Still going to try out for the Companions?” Lydia asked as she pulled herself into the bed beside Kat.  
“Should I not?”  
“I don’t know. Just wondering.”  
Kat smiled. “Of course I am. I just feel like I’m meant for it, you know?” She lay down, pulled the furs up to her chin.  
“Seems like you’re meant for everything. Dragonborn, Companion, Thane of Whiterun...”  
“I’m hoping that there will be a lot more titles than that after I’m done,” Kat giggled. “Maybe Harbinger, for one.”  
“As if,” Lydia scoffed, throwing a fur across Kat’s face.  
Kat laughed and threw it off. “You never know.” She wagged a finger.  
Lydia shook her head. “Night, Kat.”  
“Night, Lydia.”  
Lydia blew out the candles by the bed one by one.


	3. Welcome to Jorrvaskr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A burning hole in the roof, an old acquaintance and a disastrous first day travelling.

Kat had gone downstairs. Lydia hadn’t. She hadn’t felt welcome. And so she lingered by the doors of Jorrvaskr, unsure what to do with herself as a Nord woman with red war paint and a sour-looking dark elf had a fistfight, other Companions standing around cheering, yelling encouragement.  
“Knock that snowback to the ground!”  
“Come on, he’s not that tough!”  
Lydia blinked as the dark elf landed a savage punch to the Nord’s stomach. She cried out and stumbled backwards while he grinned.  
“Hello?” Lydia started as a man with dark hair walked over to her. His voice was gravelly and deep.  
“Hello,” Lydia answered awkwardly.  
“Haven’t seen you around before,” he prompted. “I’m Farkas.”  
“I’m Lydia. I’m just… here with a friend, I suppose.”  
“Your friend signing up?”  
“Trying to.”  
“Can they fight?”  
Lydia smiled. “Yes.”  
“Good. We always need more Companions here. You’ll have to hope that Kodlak Whitemane likes your friend.”  
“I suppose so.”  
Farkas frowned. “You don’t seem happy.”  
Lydia pulled a face. “Maybe. I just think that she has more important things to do.”  
“More important than the Companions?” Farkas looked dubious.  
“She’s the Dragonborn.”  
“The Dragonborn!” Farkas exclaimed, eyes lighting up.”We all heard the Greybeards. Well, I didn’t know what it was at first; my brother Vilkas guessed it. He’s better at talking than me.”  
“Well… I’m just here for my friend, so, um...”  
Farkas nodded and vaguely walked away. Lydia waited. She saw Kat come back upstairs, following a man who looked like Farkas – Lydia guessed that this was Vilkas. Kat shot Lydia a glance, made an unclear hand gesture and followed Vilkas out the back door of Jorrvaskr. Lydia bit her lip and moved to the doors, sliding through them to see Vilkas drawing a two-handed training blade from a rack, dropping into a fighting stance.  
“Choose your weapon,” he commanded.  
Kat’s hand hovered over the dummy weapons on the rack before she selected a single blunted arrow, drawing her own bow from her back.  
“One?” Vilkas scoffed.  
Kat just raised an eyebrow and notched the arrow.  
Vilkas shook his head, his expression screaming that he figured that this would be easy, and he yelled for the fight to begin, swinging at Kat slowly, but with flawless form. Kat dodged almost lazily. He went to swing again but, down on one knee, Kat drew her bow tight and fired her one blunted arrow.  
It slammed into a tiny gap in the plates of his armour with shocking force; Kat’s new bow packed much more force than her old one had done and the precise aim struck just below Vilkas’ collarbone, driving the breath from his throat and him backwards a few paces, his footwork faltering. However, he quickly regained his balance and regarded Kat more warily now, a slight edge of excitement to him as he came at Kat again, who now had no arrows but didn’t care because she used the bow itself and struck out at Vilkas, jamming it into his torso, which slowed him even though his heavy armour meant that her attacks almost bounced off.  
Vilkas swung his sword around and it knocked Kat’s legs out from under her, sending her sprawling, and then he levelled the tip of his blade at her throat as she moved to clamber back up again. She froze, the blunt wood just brushing the skin of her neck.  
Vilkas was about to pull back and probably help her up, gauging his victory, when Kat kicked upwards, catching his wrist and causing his hand to spring open, the sword clattering to one side. He reeled backwards, raising his fists as Kat sprang back to her feet and charged at him. She threw a punch. He crouched, caught her fist in the air and through some complex move that Lydia had never even seen let alone could imagine completing, threw Kat through the air, spinning her over his back and slamming her against the stone. She gasped, winded, but wrapped her arm around Vilkas’ foot, seizing his ankle in the crook of her elbow and pulling, sending him falling as well.  
It was one of the messiest fights that Lydia had ever seen. She could tell that Vilkas was more skilled with close combat like this, but Kat’s ability to make something up even when she was already on the ground was giving him a run for his money.  
Both of them on the ground, Kat burst out laughing and rolled away, slowly standing, brushing herself down. “That was fun,” she said.  
Vilkas stood as well, picking up his practise sword and the blunted arrow from where they had hit the ground, replacing them on the weapon rack. “You’re all right, new blood,” he told her, folding his arms. “Might even have a shot as a Companion.”  
Kat was grinning like an idiot.  
He drew his real sword from his belt. “Now I’ve tested your mettle, go and get this sharpened. Be careful: it’s probably worth more than you are.”  
Kat’s sparkling eyes couldn’t be dampened by this mundane task, and she practically skipped up to the Skyforge, Lydia shaking her head but smiling as she followed, ever a dutiful housecarl.  
Kat waited for Lydia at the bottom of the steps to the Skyforge, where she squealed with delight and grabbed Lydia’s hands, spinning them both around; Lydia yelped as the sky spun above her. “Alright, Kat,” she said when they stopped. “Congratulations, I suppose.”  
“Yes, congratulations!” Kat whirled around by herself, her hair a dark halo around her face. “I’ve got into the Companions!”  
“Did he say that?”  
“He might as well have done,” Kat replied dismissively. “And the Skyforge! There are so many legends about this place! I was told all about it when I was a little girl!”  
Lydia hesitated a moment before she spoke. She had never asked about this before. “Are you from the Imperial City, then?”  
Kat’s answer was slightly delayed as she beheld Lydia with a slightly strange expression. Then she said, “I wasn’t born there, but it’s where I spent most of my life before coming to Skyrim. It’s the heart of the Empire. You’ve got absolutely everything there.”  
“So where were you born?” Lydia asked then, hoping that she didn’t sound too pushy.  
“Cheydinhal.”  
“Where’s that?”  
“In Cyrodiil.” Kat shrugged. “East-ish.” She bit her lip. “I should be getting Vilkas’ sword sharpened,” she said awkwardly.  
Lydia blinked. She apologised and let Kat give Vilkas’ sword to Eorlund Grey-Mane and then take Aela’s shield to give to her. She followed her silently, feeling embarrassed. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked about Kat’s life before Skyrim. Kat wasn’t looking at her.  
Lydia knew that Kat was being executed at Helgen because she had been crossing the border into Skyrim and had walked into an Imperial ambush along with a group of Stormcloaks.  
Lydia didn’t know what to make of the war between the Imperials and Stormcloaks. Neither of them seemed like true Nords to her. True Nords protected people, didn’t get them caught in the way of a war that no one could win. It wasn’t that she wanted one side to win; she just wanted people to be safe. That’s why she was a housecarl: she wanted to serve someone who helped people.  
Honestly? Lydia didn’t really know what to make of Kat as a person. She was nice. Was she a hero? Lydia didn’t know.  
Kat got herself her first job with the Companions, heading out of Whiterun still bubbling with excitement, looking to slay a troublesome giant at Bleakwind Basin. Lydia didn’t especially fancy their chances against a giant, but had to follow Kat anyway, and hope that she knew what she was doing.  
They were well within sight of the giant camp, the bonfire in the centre dominating the horizon, when Kat gave Lydia a look. “I’m not offended that you asked where I’m from,” she said.  
Lydia jumped. “Um...”  
“I know I wasn’t exactly thrilled about answering when you did ask. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just haven’t spoken about it in a while.”  
“That’s okay.”  
“It isn’t, really.” Kat squinted. “Don’t ever assume that it’s your fault if I act funny. It almost certainly isn’t. I’m happy a lot of the time, but not all of time.”  
“Okay...”  
Kat sniffed and nodded.  
“Is there a reason that asking about your home made you go all quiet?” Lydia was feeling bolder.  
Kat cocked her head. “You know I was crossing the border when I was arrested?”  
“Yes.”  
“I was running away.”  
“What from?”  
“Who from,” Kat corrected. “But… I think that’s a story for another day, if you wouldn’t mind.”  
“Oh, of course.”  
“Because, see, that giant has now spotted us,” Kat pointed out.  
Lydia only just rolled out of the way in time as the giant pounded its fist where they had been a second before.

-

Lydia knew exactly where to go first to give Vilkas an easy entrance to the muddy past of Lilia Katriel: the Blades. Certainly one of the most noble of Kat’s ventures, the Blades were civil, and Lydia didn’t know if the news of Kat’s death had reached them in their remote base in Sky Haven Temple, mostly only leaving to kill dragons. She knew that they hadn’t been happy with Kat’s decision to leave Paarthunax alive, but surely, still, the legacy of the Dragonborn was still one that they could respect. Kat was someone that everyone should respect, even if you didn’t necessarily agree with all of her decisions.  
She packed with a heavy heart, Alesan and Blaise fumbling around downstairs as they assembled their own clothes and items. She wore ebony armour, with the Dawnguard Rune Shield strapped to her forearm and Miraak’s sword strapped to her hip. How much she had improved since this had all began! She was practically an entirely different person.  
Perhaps there were some people who would look at the evolution and think that it was down to Kat, and maybe it was to some extent, but Lydia knew better. People don’t change because others cause them to change; people change because things are brought out of them, by others, by events, by whatever. However Kat made her better, it was already there.  
That made Lydia feel better.  
But, when she left her house with Alesan and Blaise in tow, she found Vilkas already waiting there with an agitated expression. “What is it?” she asked, protective hands wrapping around her sons.  
“Some mage set Jorrvaskr’s roof on fire,” Vilkas scowled. “We’re waiting for him to fix it.”  
“I bet Aela’s not pleased.”  
“She’s already threatened his life six times,” he chuckled, reluctantly.  
“Well, I need to drop these two off, so we’d better go make sure everything’s okay up there,” Lydia urged, and Vilkas shrugged as he accompanied them up to the Wind District. Jorrvaskr had a smoking hole in the roof that wasn’t that large but was still distinct. “Was this a person trying to get into the Companions, or...”  
“Probably.”  
Lydia gently pushed the door open to Jorrvaskr to see Aela pacing up and down, ranting incomprehensibly at a Nord pulling nervously at his sleeve, wearing a mage’s robe, a cowl over his head. “If you were trying to impress us, you have done the exact opposite!” Lydia heard as she approached, ushering Alesan and Blaise behind her.  
Lydia was about to ask Aela about the situation when she recognised the mage. “Onmund?”  
Onmund started and looked at her; it took a moment for recognition to strike him. “Lydia? The Arch-Mage’s wife?”  
“Former Arch-Mage,” Lydia corrected him. It didn’t hurt. Was that bad? It didn’t hurt.  
“She hasn’t been at the College in weeks,” Onmund said. “Has something happened?”  
“She’s dead.”  
Onmund’s eyebrows shot up, and pain shivered across his face. “What happened?”  
“She was the Dragonborn, Onmund.” His eyebrows approached his hairline. “She fought Alduin and she defeated him, but she died.”  
Onmund was shaking his head. “I had heard about the Dragonborn. I didn’t know...” A short laugh escaped his lips. “The Dragonborn got my amulet back for me!”  
Lydia remembered that. Enthir being stubborn, she and Kat having to delve into a ruin to get a staff for him and then finally being able to return the amulet to Onmund. “That she did.”  
Vilkas was standing very close behind Lydia. “Lilia was the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold?” he asked, shocked.  
“Lilia Katriel was a lot of things,” Lydia replied, smirking just a little, “not least of which the Arch-Mage. Anyway, Onmund, what are you doing here?”  
“I was… going to join the Companions.”  
“What about the College?”  
Onmund sniffed. “I got bored.”  
“And the real reason is...”  
He sighed. “I may have accidentally damaged part of the library and now Urag wants my head. In the interest of… not dying… I left.”  
“Well, that explains it.” Urag gro-Shub was brutal when it came to library maintenance. “You don’t seem to have done a good job of joining the Companions so far,” she pointed out.  
Onmund flushed as Aela scowled behind him, her arms folded. “Precisely,” she snapped. “All you’ve done is burn our ancient hall!”  
“I’m really sorry!” Onmund cried.  
Aela looked him up and down and sighed. “Is he a good man, Lydia?”  
Lydia was unsure what to say. If she was honest, she didn’t know him very well. “He has never given me any reason to think otherwise.”  
Aela eyed him again, her look practically causing him to wither before her. “Right, Onmund. This can be your Trial.”  
“This?” Onmund echoed, confused.  
“You shall accompany Vilkas and Lydia for a time. If they decide that you are honourable, then you can become a Companion.”  
“You’ll have to remind me of when I agreed to that,” Lydia said, but she sighed when she saw Onmund’s pleading expression. “Fine.”  
Onmund’s expression lit up. “Thank you! I didn’t know you were a Companion,” he added.  
“I’m not.” Lydia smiled. “I just happen to have the most complicated marriage in the history of Tamriel.”  
Lydia left Alesan and Blaise with an excited-looking Farkas before leaving Jorrvaskr with her two companions and then departing Whiterun for the first time since Kat had left.  
“How did you become a Companion, Vilkas?” Onmund asked genially as they hit the western road.  
“I grew up in Jorrvaskr,” Vilkas answered simply.  
“Were your parents Companions?”  
“No.”  
Onmund sensed his reluctance to talk about this and wisely shut up. “I went to the College by my own accord,” he said instead, a while later. “My family wanted me to be a hunter, or a farmer, but I wanted to be a mage. I always knew that that was what I wanted.”  
“Great.”  
Onmund bit his lip and shut up again.  
“Where are we headed?” Vilkas asked, and Lydia realised that she hadn’t actually told them that yet.  
“Sky Haven Temple, to talk to the Blades,” Lydia answered.  
“I thought they were a legend,” Onmund said.  
“So did I, until I met them. But I imagine they’ll want to be informed personally about the fate of the Dragonborn.”  
Onmund hesitated before speaking again. “You seem like you’re coping well,” he commented.  
“I must do, mustn’t I? I’m getting better. I wasn’t coping at all at first.”  
“You dealt admirably.” Vilkas’ gruff voice interrupted them. “I respect your resilience.”  
Lydia was truly grateful when she said, “Thank you, Vilkas.”  
The day wore into evening. They walked tirelessly, Lydia leading the way, Vilkas and Onmund in sullen silence behind her. A moon peered down at them when Lydia stopped walking, surprising Onmund, who almost ran into her, hand on her sword.  
“Are we stopping to camp?” he asked, clearly hoping so.  
“I hear...” She drew her sword and raised her shield; Vilkas brought his blade into his hands.  
The vampires erupted from the darkness, a hissing plague. Lydia roared and raised her shield, sending a vampire reeling as Onmund lit another on fire behind her. She kept her shield up and waited a second before it erupted into light, sunlight pouring from it, driving the vampires back, weakened, to where Vilkas could easily tear into them.  
Onmund yelled behind her and she whirled around to see him kneeling on the ground, a master vampire – by the look of him – absorbing his life through a stream of red magic pouring from Onmund.  
Lydia bellowed, “For Whiterun!” and charged, knocking the vampire aside with her shield, causing it to stop glowing. She stabbed down with her sword but the vampire rolled aside.  
“Dawnguard!” it hissed.  
“I’ve killed hundreds of your kind,” Lydia growled, letting it think that it was her that was in the Dawnguard, and not her late wife.  
“You may have beaten us once, but we shall always rise again!” the vampire screeched, throwing lightning and fire at her which she intercepted with her shield, her arm beginning to ache. She stabbed at it again, catching its side, causing it to howl as it scrambled away from her.  
Vilkas came up beside her, having slain the rest of the small party of vampires. “Victory or Sovngarde!” he shouted as he ran at it, trying to retreat into the trees edging the road. Lydia dived after him, leaving Onmund gasping on the ground.  
Swathed in darkness, she could barely see her hand in front of her face, and, exasperated, raised her shield, pouring sunlight through the branches to see the vampire shockingly close behind her, creeping, silent as the grave. She cried out and tried to dodge but it moved far too fast, pouncing on her back and sinking its teeth into her neck.  
Lydia knew exactly what Vampire’s Seduction felt like; it had been used on her before and Kat had had to intervene to save her from willingly being fed upon, but this time, there was no one to save her and she just felt so calm.  
She relaxed completely, her limbs like water, leaning against the master vampire as it buried its teeth further and further into her neck. Some small part of her consciousness was screaming at her to get away and respond, but the rest was too content. This felt so good. She wished she could always feel this good. Maybe she should just lie down and let this vampire cast his twisted spells on her as he drank her blood.  
She wanted to move. Talos help her.  
Vilkas ripped the beast off her, opening its throat from ear to ear. Lydia gasped in relief as she felt the spell break. The vampire gargled pitifully as Vilkas dropped it in the dirt. “Are you all right?” he asked, catching Lydia as she nearly toppled over.  
“Just light-headed, I think,” she replied, squeezing her eyes shut. “I hate vampires.”  
Vilkas snorted an agreement and let her lean against him as they headed back to the road. “Think you might have the vampire disease?”  
“Sanguinare Vampiris? I don’t think so. It didn’t use the drain spell on me...” She groaned. “Onmund.”  
Vilkas grumbled as they made it back to the road, to see Onmund shakily on his feet. “I feel a little queasy,” he moaned.  
“Have you got any cure disease potions?” Vilkas asked her.  
Lydia sniffed. “Of course that’d be the thing I forget.” She sat down at the side of the road. “We’ll have to find a shrine somewhere, soon.”  
Onmund blinked, bleary. “Why?”  
“How much would you like us to kill you?” Vilkas growled.  
Onmund just sort of exhaled and collapsed next to Lydia. “Are you all right to take the first watch?” she asked Vilkas.  
He nodded. “You can take second. Mage boy there can get his beauty sleep, and not turn into a vampire, thank you very much.”  
Lydia smiled and didn’t even roll out a bedroll, just shrugged off her armour and curled up in the grass.


	4. The Karthspire

Lydia liked Ivarstead, because it made her think of settling down somewhere like this when she was older. Somewhere peaceful, with the scenic views and the river and the village community where everyone knew everyone. She quite liked the idea of being not quite old but almost old – past the point of fighting but not yet bed-bound and crotchety, maybe harbouring a small vegetable patch in the back yard, or running a trader shop out of her house. It was simple, but to her it was the best thing in the world. Maybe she would have children then, too, who’d be growing up by that point, maybe getting married. She could imagine the swell of pride as her children grew up and made their own ways.  
Of course, all of that could wait, because right now they were looking for someone who could give them a better idea of the climb up to High Hrothgar to meet the Greybeards. Lydia kept staring at the Throat of the World, as if wishing that it would get shorter.  
Kat was asking around with various people. Lydia was supposed to be doing that too, but the thought of climbing that mountain was making her queasy.  
Wandering close to a bridge over the river running through the village, Lydia heard a wood elf speaking to a Nord. “On your way up the 7000 steps again, Klimmek?” the wood elf was asking.  
“Not today,” the Nord – presumably Klimmek – replied. “I’m just not ready to make the climb to High Hrothgar. The path isn’t safe.”  
“Aren’t the Greybeards expecting some supplies?”  
“Honestly, I’m not certain. I’ve yet to be allowed into the monastery. Perhaps one day.”  
Lydia couldn’t believe her luck and walked over. “Excuse me, did you say you visit High Hrothgar?”  
Klimmek turned to her, a tall man with a blond beard. “I did. Can I help you?”  
“Yes, please. My friend and I are travelling up there… could you give us any advice for the journey?”  
“Advice? Watch out for wolves, and worse. It’s a long way. Although, if you’re going up there, I don’t suppose you could do me a favour?”  
“Do you want us to take some supplies for the Greybeards?” Lydia asked.  
“If you could.”  
“It shouldn’t be too much trouble,” Lydia shrugged.  
“Thanks. I’ll just go and get them, if you and your friend are leaving now?”  
“I should think so.” Lydia turned around and cupped her hands around her mouth, facing Kat, who appeared to have got into a riveting conversation with a farmer. “Kat! Come here!”  
Kat said goodbye to the farmer and raced over. “You got something?”  
“Are we heading straight up the mountain now?”  
“Sure.”  
Klimmek smiled and fetched his supplies. Lydia hefted them over her back – thankfully, they weren’t heavy – and together, she and Kat began to climb the 7000 steps.  
The journey began easily enough, though Lydia’s thighs were unaccustomed to climbing at such an incline for such an extended period of time and soon enough snow was whirling around them, almost blinding Lydia.  
“I feel like he should have warned us about the weather more than the wolves. I haven’t even seen any wolves yet,” Lydia said.  
“Don’t say that! That will make wolves appear, sure as a meat lure,” Kat teased, grinning back at Lydia. She led the way, forging through the snow determinedly.  
They kept climbing. Lydia was breathless and freezing, but refused to breathe a word of complaint, making her own life easier by walking through the trail that Kat was making in the snow rather than dragging her feet through the virgin snow piling up around them.  
“Have you heard of the Blades?” Kat asked quite abruptly.  
“The Blades?” Lydia, breathless, took a moment to do any more than echo Kat. “Yes, but only a little.”  
“They were the bodyguards to the Septim family, protecting the emperors and their families,” Kat told her, “but before that, they were legendary dragon slayers.”  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
“I’m just thinking. The Blades basically disappeared, hunted down by the Thalmor. But if there are any left, surely they’ll be in Skyrim now that the dragons have returned.” She hummed briefly in thought. “If I were a Blade, it’s where I’d go.”  
“The Blades might not be great dragon slayers any more,” Lydia pointed out. “There haven’t been dragons in so long that some didn’t even believe that they ever existed. No one’s experienced at killing dragons any more.”  
“Except maybe us,” Kat laughed. “We’ve taken a few.”  
“That we have,” Lydia agreed with a weary smile, “but we haven’t quite made it into legend as great dragon slayers yet.”  
Kat chuckled and kept walking.  
“Why are you thinking about this, though? Do you want to meet the Blades?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe. It would be cool.” Kat turned around and started to walk backwards so that she could talk to Lydia properly. “Don’t you think?”  
“I suppose. How do you know so much about them, anyway?”  
“I guess they’re a bigger deal in Cyrodiil. Protectors of the Emperor, and all that. Even though they weren’t always that good at it. Like in the Oblivion Crisis.”  
“What happened in the Oblivion Crisis?”  
Kat commenced in telling Lydia about Imperial history, with Lydia asking all sorts of questions – everything from religion to the emperors to superstitions and folk tales. Kat seemed glad to speak of them, and rattled off all sorts of things with shining eyes and her chin tilted upwards towards the sky. Lydia loved watching her like this: happy without thinking, just letting her face show everything – all the joy she found in little things.  
Their conversation was cut short by a roar.  
“Oh no,” Kat said, drawing her bow, notching an arrow.  
“Was that… a troll?” Lydia asked, blood turning to ice in her veins.  
“Sounded like it,” Kat said wearily.  
Lydia’s sword jumped into her hand as the frost troll disentangled itself from the cliff face looming before them and dropped to the ground, shaking the rock and snow and then roaring again at such volume that it left Lydia’s ears ringing.  
“Trolls don’t like fire,” Kat muttered, and suddenly flames surged in her palm, springing towards the troll, arcing across the snow in golden ribbons. The troll bellowed in fury, snorting white clouds into the air.  
“Are you a wizard?” Lydia asked, stunned.  
“I know some spells, here and there,” Kat answered vaguely. “Should serve us well, no?”  
Lydia let out a little laugh, although she wasn’t sure why, and, trusting in Kat’s cover, she charged at the frost troll, bracing her shield against the inevitable impact of a frost troll’s claws. Bellowing, she stabbed her sword towards the troll’s gut; she was expecting its fierce block and managed to bat away the brunt of the force of its muscled arm swinging down at her with her shield angled to deflect. As it staggered slightly off-balance, Kat took full advantage and five arrows slammed into the troll’s chest with terrifying force.  
Lydia leapt back out of the troll’s way as it shrieked, throwing its arms wide before brushing away the arrow shafts protruding from its chest, leaving bloody smears down its front. Its beady eyes gleamed in fury as it charged towards Kat.  
Swearing loudly, Kat rolled frantically out of the way, almost burying herself in the snow accidentally and clambering clumsily back to her feet with snow melting in her hair. Lydia sprinted towards the troll, determined to distract it from Kat, and slashed her sword against its back, gouging as many cuts as she could in its flesh. It knocked her off her feet with an almost careless swipe and pounced towards Kat again. Stars flashed amidst the snow as Lydia’s head slammed against the cliff lining the path.  
Kat, before the troll could collide with her, threw more flame at it and backed up the fire with a roar of “FUS!” which sent the troll stumbling back. In the seconds of time that she earned, she pulled a handful of arrows from her quiver and sent them slamming one after another in impossibly quick succession straight into the troll’s face. Growing more furious but more injured by the second, the troll’s movements were clumsy as it lumbered towards Kat in another attack. But this time, Lydia was back on her feet and ready, and as it opened its mouth to bite at Kat, Lydia’s shield brutally collided with its tusks. Lydia had packed such energy and power behind her strike that it reeled back with a bloody mouth and a tusk spun away into the snow. The troll’s screech left Lydia almost deaf but she didn’t care – she yelled in response and the pommel of her sword crushed its jaw before she tackled it and her blade was shoved into its neck, bursting out the other side in a spray of damp red.  
It gurgled and spluttered, blood spattering Lydia’s face as it toppled over, Lydia crashing down on top of it. Its claws raked weakly, crunching against her steel armour before falling still and flopping into the snow.  
Exhausted, Lydia collapsed sideways into the snow beside the corpse of the frost troll that was slowly soaking the white red. “We killed it,” Lydia gasped in relief.  
“You killed it,” Kat corrected, smiling as she sat beside Lydia, her quiver slipping off her shoulder. “Good one.”  
Lydia laughed.  
After probably longer than was wise, they dragged themselves up and completed the last stage of the journey up the Throat of the World, finally stumbling against the steps of High Hrothgar just as pink and green ribbons lit up the night sky in splendour.

-

The morning lit a soft golden as Lydia shook Onmund and Vilkas awake. “I don’t think we’re actually that far from Sky Haven Temple,” she told them as she assembled her gear and got ready to start walking, and Onmund struggled to his feet, looking wan and sweaty. “I’m sure the Blades will have healing supplies. You’ll be fine, Onmund.”  
Onmund didn’t reply, and just kept sweating and breathing shallow breaths.  
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Vilkas grunted.  
“We both will,” Lydia said. “He’s in a bad shape. But I’m pretty sure I know where we are, and we shouldn’t be more than a few hours away.”  
Vilkas made a gruff noise of acknowledgement as he picked up his own gear and Onmund’s and nudged Onmund into a stumbling stride. Lydia led the way as they forged into the valley where Sky Haven Temple lay, Vilkas continually pushing Onmund back into formation as he threatened to wander off and tip into the river, gormless.  
Soon enough, Lydia saw the wooden structure straddling the river beside the Karthspire where she and Kat had forged a bloody path through the Forsworn that had once claimed this area. And, of course, a dragon had swooped in then, just to make life that much easier. “We’re nearly there,” she said encouragingly, but she turned just in time to see Onmund collapse to the ground – and begin to roll.  
Lydia groaned as she slid down the bank to intercept Onmund’s limp form before it fell into the Karth, wrapping an arm around his waist and scrambling back up the grass out of harm’s way, where Vilkas was waiting with a priceless expression of exasperation and mild disgust. “I’m sure he’s much better when he’s not turning into a vampire,” Lydia offered, though she wasn’t sure if it was consolation or just speaking for the sake of speaking.  
Vilkas grunted. He did that a lot.  
“I’ll carry him,” Lydia told him, and balanced Onmund across her back for the final stretch towards the Karthspire and Sky Haven Temple, Vilkas grumbling in tow. She reached the cave entrance to the Karthspire, and hesitated. “I hear fighting,” she said quietly, moving towards the wall.  
“Great. Let’s fight with an unconscious mage-turning-vampire.”  
Lydia briefly considered her options before laying Onmund just outside the cave, in a bush. “He won’t turn for ages yet, actually,” she said, recalling her experience with the infection. “He shouldn’t be this weak yet.”  
“And yet he is. What a surprise.”  
“He’ll be fine.” Lydia arranged the bushes to conceal him before her hand went to her sword and she stepped into the Karthspire, with Vilkas in tow.  
At first, inside she saw nothing, and heard nothing but vague echoes of clashing metal, so she and Vilkas forged deeper into the cave; then someone screamed and she saw them thrown from a ledge wreathed in ivy to crunch and be silenced with a jolting impact with the stone below. “That’s a Thalmor,” Lydia said in confusion as she saw the black robes and the sharp features of a high elf. “I knew that they despised the Blades, but I didn’t think that they were aware of this place. This is bad.”  
“Of course it is,” Vilkas growled behind her, and he took point, swinging his greatsword around in his hands with an aggressive restlessness. “Let’s find out who did the throwing.”  
Lydia drew her sword and followed Vilkas as he ran up some stairs and approached three small pillars and a small bridge across to the path up to the ledge the Thalmor had been thrown from. The bridge was up, but Lydia quickly turned the pillars each to the Dragonborn symbol and the bridge dropped down, letting Vilkas charge across and up to the bowels of the temple, Lydia in pursuit.  
She heard someone say “What? You’re not Thalmor!” and saw Vilkas grind to a halt, glancing back at her. Lydia caught up to Vilkas and looked past him – there was Argis the Bulwark, weapon drawn, regarding Vilkas with extreme suspicion. His eyes widened when he saw Lydia with him. “Housecarl,” Argis greeted in surprise, his shield lowering just a little. “What are you doing here?” He looked past her. “Where’s the Dragonborn?”  
Lydia’s expression tightened. “We can talk about that when we’re not under attack,” she suggested, and Argis laughed a bitter agreement. “How did the Thalmor even find this place?”  
Argis shook his head. “Delphine thinks that we have a traitor.”  
“A traitor? Like who?”  
Argis sighed. “Valdimar hasn’t returned from his dragon hunt, and it has been a long time. We would have assumed that he died, but...” He gestured around him. “Well. This happened.”  
“What’s the situation like?”  
“Not good. Good job you showed up when you did – Delphine and Esbern aren’t holding up well back in there.” His face was pained.  
“What are you doing out here?”  
“They told me to get out and either find help or just escape.”  
“I suppose you’ve found some help, then,” Lydia said with a smile. “Let’s kill some Thalmor.”  
Argis sighed in relief. “I like that plan.”


	5. The Way of the Voice

As the three of them delved deeper into the Karthspire, Lydia pulled a petty soul gem from her pack and charged Miraak’s sword; the tentacles writhed as it accepted the energy, and she cast aside the useless gem, tightening her grip on the weapon. She had expected this to be a relatively slow start to her voyage, but, of course, it had gone wrong.  
A Thalmor loomed in their sights, but they didn’t stop to attack him because he was on fire, screeching, staggering, flames licking inside and outside his gleaming armour.  
“The traps have been reactivated?” Lydia assumed.  
Argis nodded. “Esbern reset them when the Thalmor broke in.”  
“Makes sense,” Vilkas grumbled.  
When they reached the pressure plates, they ground to a halt. “How did you get across? Doesn’t the Dragonborn have to tread on the plates?” Lydia asked.  
“No, don’t worry about it. Maybe Esbern changed it, but either way just keep on the Dragonborn symbols and you won’t get set on fire.” Argis led the way, carefully treading the path. Lydia and Vilkas followed him, Vilkas looking restless and uncomfortable.  
Upon reaching the far side, they were set upon by more Thalmor, whom they slashed through easily enough. The door guarded by the blood seal stood open and smoke was pumping from it in copious amounts, leaving Lydia concerned for anyone who might still be inside. Argis’ face paled with worry.  
“I don’t fancy choking,” Vilkas’ growl reached Lydia and Argis, who were nervously trying to peer in, waving their hands in front of their faces.  
Lydia bit her lip, and jumped once to psych herself out. “Stand back, Argis.”  
“What are you going to do?” Argis backed away, even as he asked, trusting her.  
Lydia took a breath, before Shouting “LOK!”  
The smoke cleared within seconds, spiralling out towards to sky to clear the corridor.  
Argis’ eyes widened. “Was that-”  
“-a Shout?” Vilkas finished for him.  
Lydia nodded back at them, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Kat taught me a few things, here and there. But I only know the first Word, so this won’t last that long – we need to hurry.”  
Argis and Vilkas shared a look of bewilderment before obediently following Lydia into Sky Haven Temple.  
The interior was a blur of fire and chaos, Thalmor being brutally beaten back by the small force of Blades in all of Tamriel, and brutally beating in return. Delphine was alight with rage, yelling incomprehensibly as she cut down Thalmor after Thalmor, her leather armour a dark silhouette among the confusion, almost as Death itself.  
There were four Blades left now, with Valdimar gone. Delphine and Esbern had been Blades for as long as Lydia had known them, while Valdimar, Argis and Uthgerd had been brought to the Blades by Kat. Kat, however, hadn’t been welcome in Sky Haven Temple since her refusal to kill Paarthunax, and she hadn’t seen any of her former followers since then – excluding Argis, who had actually taken opportunities when he was out on dragon hunts to occasionally pop into Breezehome for dinner. He hadn’t been for a long time, though – it made sense that he hadn’t heard.  
Uthgerd was roaring, almost as vicious as Delphine as she swung her greatsword in huge arcs, taking down perhaps three with each swipe.  
Lydia was left wondering how many Thalmor there were – they seemed to be being cut down in swathes, but there kept being more and more to take their places.  
Esbern, guarded by a flame atronach, stumbled and collapsed backward, clutching his hip. Before he was lost in the smoke, Lydia saw red bleeding between his fingers. Already, the smoke was compressing around them, and the Thalmor and Blades were all battling the air itself even as they fought each other.  
Vilkas coughed violently. “Can you Shout again, Lydia?”  
“Just a sec.” Lydia steeled herself and drew deep within herself. “LOK!”  
Delphine cried out in surprise and her head spun around. “Dragonborn!” she exclaimed, throwing one more attacker off her as she looked towards the door.  
Lydia pulled a face. “Just me,” she said awkwardly.  
With three new targets, the Thalmor renewed their attack, but with three new allies, the Blades managed to fend them off, and a chorus of steel on steel saw the remaining Thalmor attackers either to their graves or out the door. Uthgerd, utterly enraged, raced after them, raving and waving her greatsword with animal ferocity, the smoke slowly venting out of the temple as Argis darted around, throwing doors wide to let the grey leach out into the sky. Vilkas hovered behind Lydia, sort of grumbling low in his throat, unsure of what to think or do.  
“I hope Onmund is okay,” Lydia said, as she remembered that she had left him in a bush outside. Vilkas’ grumble deepened into a growl. Lydia stifled a chuckle.  
Delphine was suddenly in their faces, seizing Lydia by the shoulders. “Where is the Dragonborn? Why isn’t she with you?”  
Lydia’s face hardened as she shrugged off Delphine’s hands. “Get outside, Delphine! Kat is dead!”  
Delphine’s eyes widened until they showed the whites all around. “What?”  
“Kat went to Sovngarde, and she killed Alduin, but then Paarthunax brought her body back to me, and she is dead, she is dead!” Lydia’s face was gradually screwing up as she spoke, and her voice elevated into a shout. “LOOK OUTSIDE! Beyond your damn dragons – who will no longer be a problem, anyway, because Paarthunax is keeping them docile after Kat earned their respect by slaying Alduin. The same Paarthunax who you wanted to kill, by the way.” Lydia jammed a finger into Delphine’s chest. “Damn it, Delphine. All your isolation has got you is this.” She threw her arms wide, but they fell limp as she looked around and saw Esbern drawing guttering breaths on the steps to Alduin’s Wall, sitting in a slowly growing pool of blood, dripping down the dark stone.  
Delphine followed her gaze and cried out, rushing to Esbern’s side, gathering him in her arms. “Damn it, Esbern, damn it, damn it,” she muttered, placing pressure on the wound tearing raggedly into his side. “I told you that you should have just barricaded yourself in your room, damn it, damn it, DAMN IT.”  
Lydia crouched beside them, her heart burning with sympathy, knowing – all too fucking well – the pain of loss like this. Esbern’s eyes flickered open and shut, and his lips moved senselessly, growing paler and paler, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin.  
Delphine’s expression crumpled. “Can’t you do something?” she demanded of Lydia, who could only shake her head.  
“I know a basic healing spell, but that will barely do anything more than close the very edges of that injury, Delphine. It’s bad.”  
A tear shone oh Delphine’s cheek.  
“Delphine...” Esbern gasped.  
Delphine shook her head, pressing a hand against his clammy forehead. “Sh, don’t talk, please. Just stay with me, Esbern. Just stay right here, that’s all you have to do.”  
“I’m dying, Delphine,” he rasped.  
“Way to fucking point out the obvious!” Delphine snapped as tears glistened on her cheeks. “So stop it, damn you!”  
Esbern chuckled dryly, and his hand found Delphine’s, clutching it with all the strength left in his wiry fingers. “Be strong, Delphine. I’m just glad that the Dragonborn found me and I got to see you again.”  
“STOP IT, DAMN IT, OLD MAN!”  
The ghost of a smile lingering on his lips, Esbern breathed his last and went limp in Delphine’s arms, his hand slipping out of hers and falling to rest with a smack on the stone.  
“Esbern?” Delphine called, shaking him. “Esbern, wake up, PLEASE ESBERN STOP IT STOP IT, DAMN IT!” She collapsed into sobs, resting her forehead against his, her entire body racked with grief. “Esbern, please, please, wake up. Wake up, old man.”  
Lydia reached out and, as tenderly as she could, closed Esbern’s eyes. Delphine let out a wail.  
A thud marked Argis’ knees banging against the ground as he collapsed to the floor, burying his face in his hands. Uthgerd finally returned from murdering the last of the Thalmor and Argis told her what her happened through shuddering breaths.  
The five of them – Delphine, Lydia, Argis, Uthgerd and Vilkas – carefully carried Esbern to lay to rest on the huge table that filled most of the room, laying him out with as much dignity as possible.  
Delphine was biting her lip, holding back waves of sobs as tears poured silently down her face. Argis’ eyes were also gleaming and Uthgerd’s lined forehead revealed the emotions that she was hiding. For want of something better to do, they sat around Esbern’s body; Lydia perched on the end of her chair and clasped her hands between her knees, unsure what to do now.  
A slow start. An easy start. Someone was already dead, and someone else was turning into-  
Lydia leapt up in alarm. “Do any of you have a cure disease potion?” she asked the others, urgency making her louder.  
Delphine didn’t even react to her question, but Argis nodded and pulled one from his pack, handing it to her. She gave him a look of thanks before rushing out of the Karthspire, bursting into the sunlight and finding Onmund undiscovered and unharmed, rolling restlessly in the bushes, sweat beading his skin. She sat him up and poured the potion into his mouth. He swallowed, and woke with a start.  
“I’m alive!” he exclaimed, patting himself down.  
“And not a vampire, by any degree,” Lydia assured him, sitting back in relief.  
“Are we here? Sky Haven Temple?”  
“Oh. Yeah. And, um, one of their leaders, Esbern, is dead.”  
“Oh. I’m sorry.”  
“Tell that to Delphine, not me.” Lydia reached out a hand and pulled him to his feet, leading him through the Karthspire to the ragged, makeshift funeral within the Temple. He seemed to physically respond to his internal awkwardness and almost shrank, unable to decide what to do with his limbs.  
“Why are you here, Lydia?” Delphine finally asked as Lydia sat down again, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand.  
Lydia tucked her hair behind her ears. “Well, I was just here to let you know what happened to Kat. Matter of courtesy. Thought you’d want to know.”  
Delphine’s expression didn’t change; she just kept staring at Esbern’s motionless form.  
“Well. That’s why we’re here. Shouldn’t impose upon your hospitality longer than necessary, I suppose.” Delphine was silent. “Let’s go, Vilkas. Onmund.”  
They went to go, and got as far as the blood seal outside Sky Haven Temple before the sound of running feet and a yell of “WAIT!” reached them. Turning, Lydia saw Argis, his eyes wide. “Did you say that the dragons are all… not going to be a problem, now?”  
“Yes?”  
“Well… then the Blades aren’t really needed any more, are they? Wasn’t Kat supposed to be the last Dragonborn, so we can’t protect the Dragonborn now, either?” He splayed his hands out. “If we’re unnecessary...”  
“Delphine won’t be happy if you leave.”  
“I know.”  
“She doesn’t need anyone else to leave her when Esbern has just died, Argis.”  
Argis sighed. “Why don’t you stay for a few days, then? Help us deal with Esbern, let Delphine have people around her while she deals with this. And then… and then, I’d like to come with you.”  
Lydia’s eyebrows shot up. “Come with me? You don’t even know where we’re going, or why.”  
Argis shook his head. “I don’t care. This looks like a noble band, and I need new purpose. You would never disgrace Kat’s memory by doing something bad.”  
Lydia had to crack a smile. “Clearly you don’t remember Kat like I do,” she said. Argis just frowned. “Uh, I should probably warn you… that this probably isn’t going to be what you’re expecting. All of you.” She turned to Vilkas and Onmund, standing looking mildly alarmed behind her. “Argis, you knew Kat as the Dragonborn, legendary dragonslayer, and the woman who was always destined to kill Alduin. Vilkas, you knew Kat as the Harbinger of the Companions, leader of an honourable group of warriors. And Onmund, you knew Kat as the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, a woman wreathed in knowledge and mystique. I doubt that any of you could see Kat as she was with one of the others of you and recognise her. And this…” Lydia shook her head. “This is only the beginning.”  
Vilkas put a hand on Lydia’s arm. “If you’re so worried about this, Lydia, why don’t you just tell us everything now?”  
Lydia’s stomach turned. “Oh. Um.” She swallowed, sweat pricking her forehead. Going through all of Kat’s papers in her chest by the bed had been… a shock to say the least, even to her. She didn’t know if the others were ready for that, yet.  
Argis smiled at her. “It’s okay, Lydia. Kat’s life isn’t ours to judge, particularly as she must have saved ours a thousand times each.”  
“You don’t have to tell us now, if you don’t want to,” Onmund cut across the other two, looking sympathetic.  
Lydia took a breath and looked to Argis. “We’ll stay here, for Delphine’s sake and yours, Argis. And then… and then...” Lydia racked her brains, wondering where in all of Skyrim they ought to go next.   
“And then we’ll go to the Thieves’ Guild.”

-

Lydia was not welcome in High Hrothgar.  
Of course, the Greybeards were absolutely thrilled to open their doors to the legendary Dragonborn to help her hone her skills and develop her skills in The Way of The Voice (or whatever it was called – Lydia didn’t really care), but as for her loveable tag along housecarl, they weren’t so impressed. So Lydia sat outside on the steps, stubbornly refusing to show any weakness to the cold as the snow swirled around her and she waited for Kat.  
She had already pulled a cloak from her pack, unwilling to freeze to death for the sake of her pride, and she hugged it closer around herself, clenching her teeth to stop them from chattering. “Damn, it’s freezing,” she muttered to herself, and pulled the cloak over her head until she was little more than a soft red lump, utterly swathed in cloth, her knees pulled up to her chest.  
In the distance, she could hear Shouting – presumably it was was the Greybeards instructing Kat in the art of yelling at stuff until it set on fire or whatever. It was beyond Lydia.  
Perhaps an hour went by, but it might have been much less or much more, because Lydia was slipping in and out of a doze, but then Kat was suddenly curling up inside Lydia’s blanket beside her, pulling Lydia close to her. “Gods, you’re so cold,” Kat told her, worry creasing her brow. “You’ll freeze out here!”  
Lydia just sort of shrugged and let Kat wrap her arms around her, leaning gratefully into her warmth. “Sorry I took so long,” Kat apologised softly. “It was kind of intense. I learned two new Words of Power – now I can super-speed. Kind of awesome, right?”  
“Must be,” Lydia answered non-committally. Kat made a guilty noise and apologised again. “You don’t need to say sorry,” Lydia assured her. “I’m your housecarl; I go where you go, and if that means getting slightly cold, I’ll bear it.”  
Kat sighed and shuffled out of the blanket. “Hang on.” And she made a campfire, right there on the steps up to High Hrothgar, using an intuitive mixture of magic and rummaging in the snow for potentially burnable twigs until she had assembled it. She beckoned Lydia closer to it, and then shuffled in beside her again, completely disregarding Lydia’s icy skin in order to share her warmth. “There,” she said. “We’ll just wait until you’re warmed up enough to make it down without dying on me.”  
“I’ll be fine,” Lydia insisted, feeling weak. She’d literally just been sitting there, and they were stopping just for her. “I feel like whatever you have to do is much more important.”  
“I have to find the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller,” Kat said, but then waved an uncaring hand. “But it’s fine. They didn’t exactly give me a time limit on this.”  
Lydia swallowed and just relaxed, letting the heat from the fire wash over her.  
She woke up somewhere unfamiliar, and sat up with a cry. Before she could seize the nearest item of furniture and hoist it over her head as a weapon, Kat poked her head in and grinned. “You’re awake!”  
Lydia was suddenly aware that she was out of her armour, and pulled the blankets covering her up to her neck, flushing red. She was still wearing her tunic and undergarments, but she felt spectacularly exposed. “Where are we?” she asked nervously.  
“Vilemyr Inn, in Ivarstead,” Kat answered, entering the room and closing the door gently beside her. “You fell asleep outside High Hrothgar, so I carried you down here.”  
“You… carried me… all the way down the Throat of the World… by yourself.”  
Kat looked down and grinned. “I may have super-sped quite a bit of the way. And I may have ran into a couple of hunters on the way down who lent a hand. But I basically just carried you down.” She laughed.  
Lydia bit her lip. “Thank you,” she said, her blush not diminishing at all.  
Kat noticed. “Oh, sorry. Should I go? Your armour’s on the chair.” She pointed.  
“Stop apologising,” Lydia commanded. “You don’t need to apologise.”  
Eyes gleaming, Kat giggled. “Good to know.” She leaned forwards and clasped her hands together. “I don’t think you realise how nice you are, Lydia.”  
But Lydia was impossibly distracted by the golden circle that had fallen out of the plates of Kat’s armour as she leant forwards. “Is that an Amulet of Mara?”  
Kat looked down, then back up at Lydia, as if checking that she was indeed wearing an amulet at all. “It certainly seems to be,” she agreed, with a risen eyebrow.  
Lydia’s face shifted into beetroot shades as she realised that there was an obvious follow up question hanging in the air between them now, and that she had been foolish enough to hang it there. Kat’s expression softened. “I’ll let you get dressed, and stuff,” she said, rising and making for the door. “Come meet me outside when you’re ready.” She always closed doors so gently, Lydia noticed, for some reason, as if she was always conscious of bothering people, but not in a shy kind of way, and more in an inborn and constant care for everyone else.  
It took longer than Lydia would be prepared to admit for her blush to die down, and she sat, fully armed and armoured, with her back to the door, for an embarrassingly long time as she regained her composure.  
Did… was… could… maybe? Lydia’s thoughts were a damn mess. They always seemed to be when she thought of Kat: a messy mixture of affection, dreams of the future and crazy, random things that she noticed for no apparent reason. Lydia buried her face in her hands. She should feel embarrassed as she cringed there, but for some reason she found herself smiling up at the ceiling.  
Lilia Katriel. Did… Lydia… maybe?  
Despite the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure of what she would do next, Lydia pulled the door open. To her surprise, though, she found Kat there, with her hand raised as if she had been about to knock. And, for the first time that Lydia had seen, Kat blushed, tanned features flushing darker and her eyes going wide. And, for the first time that Lydia had seen, Kat was totally speechless.  
“Kat?” she prompted, holding the door, unsure what to do.  
Kat… Kat had taken off her Amulet of Mara.  
“Kat, what-”  
Kat interrupted her by pushing her backwards into the room, hands lingering on her shoulders. Lydia let her do so, wondering what in Oblivion was going to happen next.  
Kat leaned a little closer, seeming almost like she was experimenting with being this close to Lydia. Lydia felt heat blossom in her chest and run down her neck.  
If Kat was teasing her, or something, then Lydia would be forced to fu-  
Kat’s lips were rough on Lydia’s, chapped and a little dry. Lydia’s senses drove into hyper-awareness as Kat didn’t pull away, and stayed right there, gently, and with no small measure of apprehension, kissing Lydia.  
Lydia kicked the door closed.


	6. Blessings of Mara

It was five days before Lydia could stand Delphine’s moping no longer and went to tell her that she, Vilkas, Onmund and Argis would be leaving forthwith.  
Delphine looked up at her with wide and unfocused eyes, her expression blank. She didn’t say anything.  
Lydia coughed. “Uh… right. Bye, then.” She didn’t have the patience to be sensitive. Not today.  
Just as she reached the door, Delphine spoke. “The Dragonborn trusted you with everything, Lydia,” she croaked. Lydia froze in the doorway, not turning around, but listening. “She trusted you with her life, and therefore the future of everything.” Not sure where this was going, Lydia turned her head, just a little. “And I trust you too.” Delphine finally broke, the dams behind her eyes bursting and the tears pouring forth. “So tell me: what should I do now?”  
Lydia’s lips parted and her throat closed; she had no answer.  
“What should I do now?” Delphine repeated, gasping in air and burying her face in her hands.  
For a moment, Lydia could see herself, weeping and shaking just like Delphine was, crouching over the body of her wife, wailing at the sky. The hopelessness, the awful, awful feelings rolling over her. And she suddenly knew what to say.  
“What do you think that your purpose is, Delphine?” she asked, quietly.  
Delphine raised her head; her face screamed an unasked question.  
“Is your purpose to kill dragons? Is your purpose to support the Dragonborn?” Lydia finally turned around and folded her arms. “Or is that the purpose of the Blades?”  
Confusion.  
“You are a Blade, Delphine. That’s all that you have been for a long time. But you are not the Blades.” Lydia frowned a little, chasing down her thoughts. “You are independent of all that, if you choose to be. You can be anything you want.” Her eyes turned to steel. “If the only purpose that you can find for yourself is following a dead Dragonborn, then I can’t help you. But I think that you can come up with something new.”  
The slight dawning of realisation.  
“So what should you do now? Live the purpose that you choose.” Lydia’s arms fell back down to her sides, and she could think of nothing more to say. “I can’t help you any more than that. I don’t know what you should do. That’s your decision.”  
Delphine’s brow furrowed, and the tears came more slowly.  
Lydia just sighed, and left the room, winding her way through Sky Haven Temple to the blood seal entrance where Vilkas, Onmund and Argis were waiting, packed and ready to go. They had been somewhat apprehensive since Lydia had told them about the Thieves Guild; Onmund for one had asked her endless questions, and Lydia had given vague, evasive answers, mainly because she didn’t know most of the answers herself. She knew exactly where to find the Thieves Guild via the Ratway – Kat had never shown her the secret entrance – but she had never seen the inside. She was not a member of the Thieves Guild, and as such she was worried no small amount about how the members would receive her: whether or not they would immediately chase her off, whether or not they would just lock down and not let her in.  
But, with luck, Kat would have told at least one of them about her wife, and Lydia would be able to get in somehow. Kat had mentioned a few of her colleagues at the guild: there was Brynjolf, and, uh, oh, that guy Etienne that Kat had rescued from the Thalmor Embassy. Then there was Mercer Frey, the ass that had tried to kill Kat more than once. And the worst part was that Lydia hadn’t been there on the confidential ‘Guild Business’ to protect her.  
Kat’s papers pertaining to the Thieves’ Guild had been mostly records, pages and pages of numbers, money and jobs all written in Kat’s close scrawl. But there had been a few, more confusing, items. Something called the ‘Nightingales’, some sort of ritual. A trade. But Kat’s notes were brief, nonsensical and somewhat alarming. Perhaps she could ask Brynjolf.  
To tell Vilkas, Onmund and Argis about everything was terrifying. What about Dawnstar? What about Reachcliff? Lydia’s head began pounding just thinking about it.  
Still, Lydia was becoming very glad that she had brought Argis along. He had somewhat bridged the massive gap between Vilkas and Onmund, because he was serious and strong enough that Vilkas regarded him with respect, but was pleasant enough that he could talk to Onmund without the same level of disdain that Vilkas had. As such, when Lydia reached them there was a sort-of-maybe conversation going between the three of them and that significantly improved her mood as she shouldered her own pack, tightened her armour and the sword strapped to her belt, and began to lead them out of and away from the Karthspire. Her ragged band.  
Before, it was only ever conceivable that she would follow Kat around as she gathered companions, friends and associates. Now… it seemed that Lydia had become the leader in her place. That was strange. And yet… while it was being so unfamiliar, it also felt like the most natural thing in the world.  
Kat was gone, but Lydia was still here, and maybe she had learned a thing or two.  
The walk was uneventful beside the odd mudcrab attack or wolf pack, and Lydia ended up speaking to Argis. “You think Valdimar leaked the Blades’ location?”  
Argis nodded slowly. “I’m not certain, but it’s the only real thing that makes sense.” He sighed. “It would never be Esbern, Delphine or Uthgerd, and I know it wasn’t me. It was hardly going to be you, and Kat...” He frowned, and his throat bobbed up and down. “It’s so strange to think it.” His smile was wistful. “She was just so… alive.”  
Lydia smiled as well and gazed up at the sky. “I know what you mean. Something about her made you feel almost like you could do anything. She was like… a star. Leading the way in the dark.”  
“Poetic,” Argis commented with a chuckle, and they settled into easy silence. “How are Alesan and Blaise?” he asked after a while.  
“Still… processing.” Lydia rubbed the back of her neck. “I felt bad leaving them behind, but Farkas should look after them.”  
“Farkas?”  
“He’s a Companion. He’s a good man.”  
“It must be hard for them.”  
Lydia nodded. “It is.”  
She looked behind her to see Onmund and Vilkas: Onmund was chattering away about something but not looking at Vilkas. Vilkas wasn’t looking at him either, but grunted occasionally in acknowledgement. “They’re almost having a conversation,” she remarked in surprise.  
Argis chuckled “Almost.”  
A thought struck Lydia. “Does everyone have a standing stone effect active?” she asked.  
“Lord Stone,” Vilkas grunted straight away.  
“I’ve got the Lover Stone,” Argis said.  
Onmund looked vaguely alarmed. “Oh. Do I need one?”  
Lydia shook her head. “You don’t need one, but it would probably be a help. It’s an augmentation.” She hesitated a moment. “If we’re going north around the Throat of the World, we could stop at the Ritual Stone, if that would suit you.”  
“What does that do?”  
“I think it lets you reanimate the dead once a day.” Lydia’s raised eyebrows were a question.  
Onmund’s eyes darted around when he was thinking, and he did that now. “I’m not a necromancer, so that might help.” He thought a second longer, before nodding eagerly. “That sounds good.”  
“Alright then. North it is. We should be able to see Whiterun soon.” Lydia squinted at the horizon. “I’d like to check in on my sons.”  
“Of course,” Argis said, and Vilkas nodded.   
Just as the sun began to slip out of sight, they passed through the gates of Whiterun. Lydia couldn’t help but look at Breezehome for a second with a confused tangle of emotions, before she shook her head and led the way on. “We’ll stay at Breezehome tonight,” she told them. “You’ll have to take the floor, but it’ll be warm. And safe.”  
“I’ve slept on worse,” Onmund chirruped from the back of the group. Lydia didn’t ask.  
“This way to Jorrvaskr,” Lydia said, although she wasn’t sure for whose benefit, because they all knew where it was.  
She saw Blaise crouching precariously on the wall around Jorrvaskr, tongue stuck out in concentration as he wobbled back and forth, arms and fingers splayed out to either side. Lydia wasn’t sure whether or not to say anything to him in case he fell, but to her surprise he talked to her. “Hello, mama,” he said.  
“How are you, Blaise?” Lydia asked him.  
Blaise dropped his hands down to the wall and hung his legs over the side, sitting down so that he could look her full in the face. “Almost an assassin,” he answered with a wolfish grin.  
“Good to know. But don’t go contacting the Dark Brotherhood until you’re all the way there.” Do Argis, Onmund and Vilkas know that Kat was a member of the Dark Brotherhood? Lydia thought to herself. Surely not. “Has Farkas been looking after you well?”  
“He barely leaves us alone.” Blaise wrinkled his nose. “Mum was better. She just came home and told us cool stories.” He shifted back into his crouch. “Mum was amazing.” He laughed. “Why did she marry you?”  
Lydia almost choked, but she saw the edge of nervousness behind the joke in Blaise’s eyes and decided to let it slide. Onmund’s eyebrows had shot up at that. “You okay here?”  
Blaise shrugged. “Unless I fall. Which I won’t. I’m almost an assassin, remember?”  
“I remember.” Regret taunted Lydia. “You’re sure you’re okay being left alone for a while?”  
Blaise looked Lydia right in the eyes. “I’m not alone, mama. I have Alesan. And even if I was, it’s okay. You have to do what you have to do.”  
Lydia blinked at him. “I sometimes forget how mature you are, Blaise.”  
He shrugged. “Everyone does.”  
Lydia hesitated slightly longer before opening the doors to Jorrvaskr, where she saw Alesan stirring something in the cooking pot, Farkas hovering over his shoulder, eyes brimming with pride. “You’re getting very good at this,” Farkas was saying.  
Alesan flushed, then he spotted Lydia and his eyes widened. “Mama!”  
Farkas looked up in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” he said, but he smiled good-naturedly as Alesan ran up and threw his arms around Lydia. Then Farkas’ eyes drifted away from Lydia and found her companions, finally resting on Argis and staying there. He blinked a few times.  
Lydia lifted Alesan into the air and spun him around. “How are you, Alesan?” she asked, ruffling his hair as she set him down.  
Alesan squealed in delight. “It’s been really fun! Uncle Farkas is really nice.”  
“Uncle Farkas, eh?” Lydia looked towards Farkas, wondering whose idea that was, but Farkas was looking at Argis, who was gradually growing redder and redder.  
“Why is he staring at me?” Argis whispered to Onmund.  
“He looks smitten to me,” Onmund hissed back.  
“Smitten?”  
Lydia stifled a laugh as she focused on Alesan. “He been looking after you well?”  
“Yeah! He lets me cook a lot, and everyone likes it!”  
“Your son has distinct ability,” came a curt voice from the corner, and Lydia turned her head to see Aela with her arms folded. “He is humble yet skilled; a delicate mixture that I haven’t seen since Lilia Katriel.”  
Alesan shone with excitement at that compliment, and Lydia blew air out in surprise. “She must really like your cooking.”  
“He’s stopped staring at me,” Argis whispered to Onmund. “I don’t want to look at him; what is he doing?”  
“You don’t want to look at him?”  
“I don’t want it to look like I’m looking at him.”  
“Uh… he’s taking the stew off the fire so that it doesn’t burn.”  
Lydia laid a hand on Alesan’s shoulder. “I can’t stay long, Alesan, we’ll be off tomorrow. Sorry I can’t stay longer.”  
Alesan considered that for a moment, and then said, “I’ll make sure that I can cook some brilliant things when you come back.” His eyes widened. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”  
“Of course!”  
“It’s ready right now, I think. I’ll get Blaise!” He raced outside, and Lydia and her companions sat down for dinner.  
It was so simple, and so domestic. Lydia had wanted a family like for as long as she could remember. She had a feeling that this was the calm before the storm, but right in this moment, she didn’t care.

-

“Alright, I’m going to go and meet Karliah down at the Flagon. Hopefully we’ll get to rearrange Mercer Frey’s face before long.” Kat leaned in and gave Lydia a lingering kiss. “I shouldn’t be too long. You good going to the temple by yourself?”  
“I’m only arranging the marriage, I think that I can manage.” Lydia smiled at her fiancée, much more worried about her than herself. “You’re sure that you don’t want me to come? I can just stand outside and come if you yell. What if he’s in there, waiting?”  
“He won’t be.” Kat flashed her a confident grin. “He’s a rat. When rats smell danger, they run.”  
“I hope so.” Lydia wasn’t especially comforted, but let Kat squeeze her hands and disappear into the Ratway with another gentle smile. “Rats in the Ratway,” Lydia muttered to herself, not sure what she meant by that, and she just shook off her chills and mounted the stairs back up to the main city level. The marketplace was sort of medium busy, and Lydia nodded at a couple of people that she vaguely knew (generally because Kat knew them first) as she swept through. It felt strange. Lydia was about to get married – to an Imperial no less. Her mother would be turning in her grave.  
In the stories, where the hero rescued the damsel in distress, they got married and that was the end of the story: marriage was the conclusion, the goal. But it didn’t feel like that at all. It was another beginning. It was another open door to let them move forwards in life.  
And children! Did Lydia even want children? She tugged at her armour, wondering. If they were going to have children, they were obviously going to have to adopt. Maybe a visit to the orphanage across the way was in order. But could they even care for children? They were busy slaying dragons and running around after renegade guild masters all the time; how could they ever raise a family?  
Lydia took a breath. Just focus on the marriage, Lydia. You don’t have to plan out your entire life now.  
She pushed open the door to the Temple of Mara and looked around to see a Redguard priest in billowing orange robes speaking to a dark elf priestess to one side.  
“It fills me with joy to hear you’re with child, Dinya,” the priest said. “They said it wouldn’t… that it couldn’t happen, but Mara has shown them their mistake.”  
Dinya, the dark elf, rested a hand on the priest’s arm with a gentle smile. “And to think I was wandering the ash wastes only two years ago. I never knew my path would lead to you.”  
“You were guided here; you were always meant to be here. That’s the way of things.”  
“Then I thank Lady Mara with all my heart: for you, for our child, and for our love.” She leaned in for a kiss, and then saw Lydia standing awkwardly in the door, pulling back with a smile. “Go on, Maramal,” she urged the priest, before turning and disappearing into the back rooms.  
Maramal turned to Lydia, eyes bright. “How may I help you, my daughter?”  
Lydia found herself stammering bizarrely. “I – ah – I’m l-looking to have a marriage in the temple?”  
“Ah, excellent! Why, we can actually fit you in tomorrow – we recently had a cancellation. Will dawn until dusk do?”  
Lydia froze, blinking, unsure. She didn’t know how long Kat’s business would take, but that would probably be okay? Kat had said she wouldn’t be too long… “Um… okay?”  
“Marvellous, my daughter.” He led her around to a table towards the side. “I just need to take down your name and the name of your spouse?”  
“I’m Lydia, and my spouse’s name is… well, it’s Lilia, but everyone calls her Kat.”  
“Lydia and Kat, excellent.” Maramal noted down the names. “How many guests will you have attending?”  
“Well… there isn’t really time for them to get here, even if they knew. Most of our friends are all over.”  
“I’m sure that Mara’s blessings will speed them on their way.” Maramal smiled. “I’ll put guests down as a maybe and leave some room.”  
“Thank you.” Lydia was suddenly incalculably nervous. She didn’t even have anything to wear. “I guess… I’ll see you tomorrow, at dawn.”  
“I suppose you will, Lydia.” Maramal patted her on the hand. “Blessings of Mara upon you, my daughter.”  
Lydia nodded and scuttled out of the temple, not sure where to go now. She and Kat were supposed to be meeting back at the Bee and Barb, but the arrangement had been much faster than Lydia had expected, and she had no doubt that she would end up waiting for a very long time.  
A person in Thieves’ Guild armour darted past her and for a second Lydia thought it was Kat, but she saw an Altmer face that she didn’t recognise, and a man’s figure receding, arrows from Riften guards flying after him and thudding into the stone floor and walls as the man frantically dodged.  
If Kat hadn’t been in the Thieves’ Guild, Lydia wouldn’t have given a second thought to pulling out her own bow and sending arrows after the man as well, but now she couldn’t stop thinking about the family that the man probably had, the friends, the life. Lydia didn’t approve of the thieves’ lifestyle, but now that her mind had begun to see it through her knowledge of Kat, she couldn’t shoot a man down where he stood for thieving.  
So, she stood there and did nothing, and just watched as one lucky or unlucky arrow finally struck true and the thief buckled, the arrowhead protruding from his chest. He let out a choked gargling and fell, hitting the fence, flopping over it and landing in the river below. No one went down to fetch his body, and it just began to float along, bobbing up and down, above and below the surface.  
“Are you alright, miss?” A man jogged forwards, pushing up his helmet to reveal a worried expression and a dark, twisting tattoo on his right cheek. A scar also slashed down over one of his eyes. “Those arrows came close to you.”  
“I’m fine,” Lydia assured him. He was wearing steel armour similar to hers. “Were you shooting?”  
“Not me, no.” He shook his head. “It would be much more civil if we could capture petty thieves unharmed.” He looked down into the river and watched the thief float along with a sad expression. “The Riften guards tend to take a ‘shoot first’ attitude, though.”  
“I noticed. Are you from Riften?”  
“No, I’m from Markarth. I’m a housecarl for the Jarl, but I don’t have a Thane, yet.” He blew out his cheeks. “My name is Argis.”  
“I’m Lydia. I’m a housecarl too, actually. In Whiterun.”  
“Oh, that’s great.” Argis’ face was open and honest, and Lydia immediately took a liking to him.  
“I’m actually housecarl to the Dragonborn, which is hectic.”  
“The Dragonborn!” Argis’ eyes lit up. “I’d heard that the Dragonborn had emerged, but not uch about them. What are they like?”  
“Her name is Lilia Katriel, and- hey, do you want to go grab a drink? I’ll tell you all about her in the inn.”  
“Sure.”  
Lydia and Argis chatted in the Bee and Barb for hours, and traded stories and jokes, bonding over the similar experiences that they had as housecarls. It was easy, one of those friendships that came with no effort at all, until Lydia felt like she must have known him for years. “Hey,” she said after a while. “Kat and I are getting married tomorrow.”  
Argis gasped and put his hand on hers. “Congratulations!” he exclaimed.  
Lydia flushed. “Thank you,” she said, “but I was going to ask… do you want to come?”  
Argis’ eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he nodded. “I’d love to.”  
“I don’t want to keep you from any business you have down here in Riften...”  
“It’s no bother. I’m just taking a message to the Jarl, and I can do that tonight. Is it dawn until dusk?”  
“Yes.”  
“Great. I’ll be there.” He stood. “I should be getting to Mistveil Keep, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Lydia.”  
“See you tomorrow, Argis.” He left, and Lydia mused over her drink in a satisfied sort of way, until Kat sat down opposite her, smelling of sewers, face streaked with grime and her hair standing up in every direction. “Funny story,” was her only explanation, when Lydia stared at her. “I’ll tell you when we’re in the room, but long story short, Mercer Frey’s house is crazy.”  
Lydia bit her lip and shook her head, smiling to herself. “We’re getting married tomorrow,” she said.  
Kat gasped, almost the same way that Argis had, and then seized Lydia’s hands in her own. “That’s fantastic!” she said. Then, “I’ll have to clean myself up, then,” she laughed.  
Lydia leaned forwards and kissed her, not caring.  
Argis cried at the wedding.


End file.
